Trust
by EveNee
Summary: The night after Jordan Hester. John goes to pick up Finch, which tests his character and restraint. Side note, John doesn't like being watched on Finch's camera, obviously. Don't own Person of Interest, sadly.


The night after Jordan Hester. Please, enjoy. Rinch. Life is so nice; it gave me so much Lemon.

John crept up on the dark police car. He slid along its side like a shadow. When he reached the front passenger side door, it flung open.

"Mr. Reese!" Finch swung his legs from the seat and rose to meet John with the widest, Cheshire cat smile. He hobbled a step closer to the man in the suit. Before the ex-operative could inspect his level of coherence, the short arms slid under his suit jacket and around his waist in a very tight, almost loving grip. John was left with a semi stunned look and his arms held out by his Boss' sides. He froze.

"Oh, Mr. Reese, Lionel said you would be taking me home. Are we going home? Which home? Are we going to your place?" The overly excited man looked up to the shocked face earnestly. His eyes were hazy and wide. John swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and rested his hands on Finch's shoulders.

"It would be best right now. Is there a safe house near here?" John took back a step from the unusually gregarious man and stumbled off the curb into the police car. His head bashed it with a thump that only intensified his headache. Finch released him as he fell with a giggle. Then, he looked about nodding.

"Around the corner. It's my favorite. Can we stay up late? Huh, Mr. Reese?" Finch grinned from ear to ear.

As John pulled himself onto the sidewalk, many thoughts were running through his head. How long would he be influenced? Would him being open prove disastrous when he awoke the next morning? Why was he being so friendly? – Finch's stomach gave a mighty growl that was followed by a whimper. Finch rubbed his stomach like a child who wanted snacks before dinner. John held his hand palm up to Finch and shoved the other into his pant pocket. Finch wound around the outstretched arm and brought himself as close to John's side as he could get.

"What do you want for dinner?" John walked the man, arm in arm like a couple, down the adjacent street. The streetlights were flickering and set an eerie tone to the scenario. John wanted to get the delirious man safe and sound in his home as soon as possible.

"You~" Finch giggled again with his voice muffled in the sleeve of John's jacket.

John halted and turned his boss around. His narrowed sky blue eyes searched the man up and down to no avail. The recluse only smiled and began to pull John down the street. They stopped by a building. This building was alike all the rest. It was brick and full of apartments. It was on the next corner, also leaving it open to easy escapes. This was the usual for a safe house, amongst many others to easily blend in. When inside, they took the stairs up three floors. John was still in shock as the cheerful man decoded each lock. The muffled sound of tumblers took and the door slid open almost silent, despite its massive size. It was made of metal and few layers thick. It had a few intricate locks to which some required a code.

When John snapped from his trace, Finch was gone inside of the house. He rushed in and shut the massive door behind him. All the locks reset themselves and gave a certain amount of ease. His head turned about the room and he felt a sigh escape his lips when he saw Finch in the kitchen section.

At ease, he looked around the room. It was mostly studio with the exception of the hall that ran along the side adjacent to the door and split off into three rooms. Bath, bed, and closet, John assumed. The kitchen, dining space, and the living space were combined into one room. The living space was off to the right and sectioned slightly by a protruding wall just to the side of the door. There was a couch, loveseat, and a recliner. A glass table sat between them in front of a wide screen TV. Many books were laid out along the table, almost like a precaution if Finch needed to use this place. The dining space had only a small square table that was set in the middle with two chairs. The kitchen had a counter that swung around in front of the orifice to the hallway and made a small rectangle to cook in. There was a large window spanning across the opposite wall that out looked over the street below. The street lights below were casting a wave of light up the brim of the window sill and flooding the room with a light accent.

Somewhat acquainted with his surroundings, John began to shed his jacket and went to see what Finch was up to. His jacket laid out along the counter and he leaned his elbows on it while observing Finch. The man was crouched by the fridge, going through the bottom section and placing food out along the floor. John pulled his shirt from his pants to loosen up and knelt by Finch. The wide eyes looked over to him.

"Harold, I can manage a little cooking. What would you like?" He started to gather the food back into the freezer to which Finch frowned.

"Oh, a grilled cheese!" He nearly exclaimed like a young child. John couldn't help but smile. To him, he felt like a father, just like he wanted, only a little bit different than he expected.

John nodded his head and helped Finch to his feet. He seemed to completely ignore his usual pain in his dazed state. He led Finch to the dining table and returned to the kitchen. As he searched for the pans, the chair he set Finch in turned with an annoying screech on the wood floor. Looking up, he saw Finch, happy as could be, watching him intently. The ex-operative sighed in defeat while rolling up his sleeves and gathered two pieces of white bread and two slices of cheese, per request to the man almost rocking in his chair at the table.

The fire stove lit up and the cheese gave a hiss as it dripped from the bread onto the steaming pan. After a few moments, he set the other piece of bread on the mass of melting cheese and flipped it with a spatula. From the table he heard Finch mumbling something softly in a cheery voice. Curious, John plated the grilled sandwich, turned the stove off, and made his way to the table. He set the plate down and went behind Finch. With ease, he lifted the chair and slid Finch snuggly against the table. He took his seat across from his boss. Finch only stared at his food with a frown.

"What is it?" John looked at the dish. It looked acceptable for the child he was portraying.

"Triangles." Finch raised his hands and made two triangles in the air.

It was something so very trivial. John kicked his seat back and fetched a knife from the kitchen. He returned to Finch, leaned over the back of his chair, arms on both sides of the drugged man, and cut the sandwich in half. An ooze of orange cheese filled the space between the two slices. Finch yipped happily and started to eat. John set the knife in the sink and took his seat again. His elbow dug into the wood table top and his palm held his cheek. His other arm crossed over his elbow tapped against the wood surface. The trained eyes simply watched the man eat.

It didn't take long for the food to disappear. Finch looked smitten with the meal and looked up to see John. Between them was a basket with a towel over it, supposedly for bread or sorts. But, the smitten looked turned to a grin as he whipped the towel off. Beneath was a slim neck bottle of red wine. John quickly snatched it up before Finch could get his hands on it. Observing the bottle, John was amused. Of course Finch could afford the expensive things, but wine wasn't his thing. He hid the wine under the towel in the basket and set it on the floor beside him. Finch started to whine.

"Please, just a little taste!" Finch frowned and folded his arms. He looked on the verge of a tantrum. John put his hands up in defeat and brought the wine to the kitchen. There, he popped the cork and set the bottle a side for a few moments to air. As he did, he found two wine glasses with intricate designs along the bases. Without him having to converse, Finch was revealing so much to John about himself. John poured one a quarter of the way full and the other half way. He set the small pool for Finch to wash down his throat. John downed his in a few seconds before he left the kitchen and poured himself a bit more.

As he sat, Finch was quiet. He was staring at the wine glass with a serious look on his face. He didn't move or speak. John washed down the rest of his second glass and stood beside Finch. The glass tipped over and John grabbed Finch by the shoulder.

"Harold, are you alright?" The man took a deep breath and rose to face John, only he had to look up, which hurt his neck. Though the pain he didn't show, he latched his hands to the front of John's shirt and used it as leverage to pull their lips together.

John stared past Finch at the large window. Everything went blank. Finch pulled harder on his shirt to press more into the kiss then relaxed on his heels. His head rested on the triangle of exposed skin below John's jaw. His breath washed over the tan skin and brought John back to reality. He found his hands moving to Finch and curving to the shape of his shoulders. He wasn't sure was he was doing. He pushed the body away, almost disappointed in himself. Finch teared up and rubbed his eyes. John grabbed his shoulders with a little bit of force and craned his neck to level their gazes.

"When you wake up, you won't remember this. That's far from what I want. I need you to trust me willingly… I can wait." John pressed his lips lightly to Finch's. The tears began to stream. John framed the face and pulled the glasses away with two fingers. From there he pressed kisses to where the tears were swelling and pressed his forehead to the others.

"Please don't do this to me," John pleaded under his breath.

Finch shook his head and pulled John's waist closer in a hug. His face was buried in John's shirt with a few sniffles. John ran one hand through the short hair and rest his chin in the messy hair. Then, after a moment of holding each other, Finch mumbled through tears, "I don't want to hurt you."

Finch held tightly to John's waist for some time. But, his weeping brought a yawn out and he began to drowse. He leaned against John's wall of a chest for complete support. John softened at the feel of the other pressed so tightly to him.

"Harold, it's bed time." He looked down, expecting a tantrum. Finch only rubbed his eyes with another yawn and followed John down into the hall.

He checked each room carefully, a force of habit. The bedroom was the last on the left and led into a rather large room. This apartment seemed to include the entire third floor of the building. There was a large than king size bed lying perfectly made and untouched in the far corner. There was a large pillow spanning the top along with some scattered smaller ones. The entire set was a charcoal color with no embroiling or lining - unlike the exquisite taste he had in wine glasses and older books.

Finch hardly found reasons to spend his money on himself other than for rare books. This plain yet elegant room was just as John had hoped and showed enough to top the night off as a victory for the ex-operative.

Aside from the bed, there were no windows - it was in the middle of the floor - and only a table set off by a small couch in the corner. The table was wooden and empty. The room seemed vacant yet not.

Finch slipped from John's grasp and bolted for the bed the best he could. His right side prevented any real running, only a hobble. He leapt onto the bed and tossed and turned on the covers. Amused, John sat on the edge of the bed and let the wild man wear himself out. It didn't take long. Finch was subdued in a matter of minutes. He laid flat on his back with heavy breaths and a wide smile. Eventually, he looked to John.

"Are you sleeping here too?" He looked ecstatic. John leaned over and started to unbutton the vest that was over the dress shirt. Then, he did the same to the dress shirt. Only the vest was removed but Finch could relax easier with his clothes undone. John hesitated a moment. His eyes looked the man's upper body up and down.

It wasn't fit like he was, but it had the soft curves and general flat look to it. He smiled at Finch's effort to stay fit. John reached up to ease Finch back onto the covers. He pulled a few layers up and tucked the man in cozily.

"I'll be across the room. Get some rest." John ruffled Finch's hair and retreated to the couch. He laid the vest out on the table and set his elbows to his knees to hold his craned head up. Finch watched idly for moments after. He looked a bit worried and saddened. But John would smile and he would roll over on his left side to sleep.

The room grew quiet. John stayed alert til morning. His eyes never left the bed. Occasionally through the night, Finch rolled over and whined a bit in pain. Every time, John got up and walked to the side of the bed. He checked Finch over. At one point, Finch began mumbling in his sleep. The words were jumbled but it sounded very painful. John sat on the edge of the bed, leaned over Finch with both hands on either sides of the pillow, and kissed the heated forehead. He held the contact and brushed back the messy hair. Finch quickly calmed down and came to purring sweetly in his sleep.

John returned to his spot on the couch after. Half way through the night, just at the peak of morning, Finch calmed considerably and kept to lying on his back with his neck straight. John's smile faded.

Morning came. Finch roused very early, around 6 a.m. He rubbed his head with a few groans and mumbles. When coherent, he looked around the room. John was sitting on the couch with his chin in his palm and his elbow digging into his knee. His eyes were half lidded. The blue orbs looked from Finch to the floor.

"Where are we, Mr. Reese?" Finch pulled himself from the bed and checked his body. No bodily harm. He literally checked his entire body over as if John would really hurt him. His first alarm was his shirt completely undone. But he quickly ruled that out considering he recalled what Hester had done to him. When he finished checking himself, Finch tried to stand. His right side throbbed in pain and he nearly doubled over. Luckily, John was by his side, holding him by his shoulders.

"You chose the safe house. I'm sure your computer misses you, Harold." John tried to humor the groggy man.

He helped him into the main room to gather up their belongings and clothes. The taxi ride back towards the library was long and quiet. John looked dreamy, almost nodding off during the ride. Finch scolded him sternly for not being prepared for work. John only waved his hand at his boss and set his head against the window. His breath curled on the cold glass and his eyes wandered the street outside. He looked truly defeated. He feared the worst of his forever teasing employee. He hoped he hadn't taken it too far.

After they returned, Finch ushered John to go and clean himself up in case a new number comes in. When his employee left, he made haste to locate the files fro the active cameras in the safe house. He barely remembered a thing from the night before, woke up in a different house than his usual ones, John was unutterably upset and tired. He could only draw one conclusion. The files from the cameras popped up on his screen. He fanned through the blank video and entered a time around 10 p.m. He went forward with the video until a person cam into frame. It was him, hobbling to the fridge and raiding it. He observed as John carefully scoped the house and then catered to his every need without a complaint. The childish behavior was offsetting.

"Oh my, you let me have wine..." He rubbed his temples and resumed watching. He saw himself rising up to John, latching onto the front of his shirt, and then kissing him. Finch found himself shocked, not only as his actions, but at John's. The restraint this man had. He neither teased nor tormented the easily employable man that was Finch. He saw the second kiss from John. It looked caring, as if a good-bye kiss.

After thoroughly watching that section of the video and seeing John whisper something into his ear, he rewound and listened to the audio. He heard a loud thump - his heart. John's words moved him so easily. He sounded genuine, almost sincere and sorry that he had to leave it as it was. Finch tried to shove the obvious facts aside and watched the rest of the video. He saw John's true wishes and had to know if he had broke. Throughout the night he had tossed and turned and whined so many times. John was there each time to check up on him. To his surprise, John's kiss even calmed his nightmarish dreams. The man never slept, not even a wink. John had done nothing wrong and more than expected. Finch felt his body tighten. He had doubted John so easily and yet he had used the utmost restraint when handling the finicky man.

The door opened from across the room. Finch quickly closed the files and turned to see John. He was in a clean suit and had showered. He had a coffee cup in his hand. He hid a yawn in his arm and reached Finch at the computer. Nodding his head towards the monitor, he leaned idly against the corner of the desk. Finch turned back to the screen, catching glances at John out of the corner of his eye.

"There aren't any numbers. Ah..." He started to talk but couldn't find the words. He wanted to know if John really felt that way or if it was another sick joke.

"Yes, Harold?" John was looking at him with his usual flat face. The corner of his mouth sort of twitched, showing a smile. Of course, his eyes weren't soft, and sincere, yet hard and full of defeat.

Finch picked himself up from the desk and patted down his vest and dress shirt. He looked up into John's eyes then down at the floor.

"I would never hurt you Finch. You don't have to worry about that." He couldn't lie, and it surely wasn't one. John set his coffee aside and stood to meet his boss.

"I know now, Mr. Reese-" Harold's eyes shot up. It was uncommon to hear John say his last name. The ex-operative looked away, accounting for his slip of tongue. He was obviously tired and needed rest for his body and mind. Finch decided he would be the one to deliver both after some confirmation.

"Tell me, what happened last night?" Finch really averted the tired eyes.

John shifted his position. He was really trying to find the right words to use.

"The ecstasy made you rather vulnerable. I kept you at the safe house." It was plain and truthful. Finch worked over the words and couldn't really decide what he was going to do. Finally, he came to a bold decision.

"Here, I have something for you. It's like a surprise, so close your eyes." Finch turned back to his desk and shuffled a few things around.

John cracked a smile and closed his eyes.

"This is hardly like you, Harold." He stood still and waited for his surprise. He hoped Finch would take his explanation and ask no more. A moment passed but Finch has stopped moving things around.

"Haro-" John was silenced by his surprise. Finch did his best to reach the taller man without hurting his neck. He brought his hands to the front of the suit and found his way inside. There he grabbed a hold of the fresh dress shirt and gave it a tug. The contact lasted only seconds but seemed like hours. Finch adjusted his shirt and released his employee. His eyes were averted to the floor.

"Are you teasing me now?" John said coarsely in a flat voice. It clearly offended him. Finch brought his head up, ready to retort at the last statement but his mouth went dry at the sight of John.

"I had to know... forgive me, Mr. Reese." Finch turned away with a grimace and disheartened. He pushed back his chair with a heavy sigh.

"Harold," John called in a serious voice. Finch felt the skilled hands touch his upper arms and turn him about in his place. John frowned when their faces met.

"I made you cry again." He wiped the tears from the corners of the pale blue eyes. Finch reached up and grabbed his hands tightly.

"Next time, tell me the whole truth. Don't decide what I need to know." Finch looked to John who was pondering that idea.

"Cameras?" He was almost amused. Finch nodded and looked away, ashamed by his inability to trust John.

"I don't like being spied on, Harold." John bent his head to rest it on Finch's shoulder.

It was silent. Neither of them moved from their spots. John finally spoke up.

"I'm serious about this. But what do you want?" After all of that fuss, John still cared for Harold's needs. It made the recluse smile softly.

"You, Mr. Reese." He pressed up against John and held very tightly around his waist.

"I won't let you take that back." John took back his head and kissed Finch. His lips were soft and had the faint after taste of coffee. Finch indulged in it by swiping his tongue along them. John's body grew stiff in his arms. But, naturally, he parted his lips and welcomed Finch.

He greeted the eager tongue with his own, drawing it into his mouth and toying with it. He explored the body given to him. His swept along the the other wet muscle, the line of teeth, the roof; he wanted to know it all.

Through the kiss, Finch let out a soft sound. It wasn't feminine, but it was soft and delicate. His voice drew very light and almost absent as he called out, "Mr. Reese."

John took a step back and studied the red visage. He smirked. His body wrapped around Finch's in a hug. One hand ran through the short brown lock and the other pressed to the middle of his back.

"It's John. No need to be formal." John pressed a light kiss to the top of Finch's head.

Finch squirmed in an attempted to get away.

"No, John, let go." John loosened his grip only enough to stare Finch in the eyes. Of course, he removed the glaring glasses. His expression was tender and loving, not an expression Finch knew he could make. Without saying anything John knew what was ailing him. His knee ran up between the shaking legs and rubbed against the stiff bulge. Finch fastened his hands to the sleeves of the black jacket as his knees grew weak.

"I want you to remember how I feel." John gave a devious smirk and pressed his hands to the firm ass. He kneaded both cheeks considerably then lifted Finch a bit, riding him farther up onto the intrusive leg. The moan that rang out next made John's spine tingle. It was high, sweet calling his name.

Finch held tightly with his arms around John's shoulders and let himself be lifted higher on John's leg. Through the torment, John lowered himself to his knees and shed his jacket on the ground. Atop it he laid Finch out. It was hardly comfortable but he couldn't wait.

John hovered above Finch with a fire in his eyes. His leg swung over the body on the floor and straddled it. Pale blue eyes looked to the ceiling then back to John. He looked hungry. Finch raised his hand to John's face and ran his thumb over the wet lips that had just been licked before the kiss. John's eyes closed and he held Finch's hand to his mouth, kissing it over and over.

"Before I change my mind, John." Finch tried to humor the man above him. He succeed in getting a smile.

"Don't rush me. I promised to never hurt you." A kiss was placed between the pale blue eyes and trailed down to the waiting lips. Something soft and light at first turned deep and heavy as the hands shaped to the recluse's face and helped him prisoner. While dominating his mouth, John wedged his leg between the closed one and managed to get them apart. His other leg found its way in and eased the shaking legs open. Finch whined under his breath and pulled from the kiss.

"My right side -" Finch grabbed his right hip and took a deep breath.

John pressed his hand over Finch's and gave his hip a gentle massage with his fingers. His eyes were apologetic.

"I don't need a nhg- special treatment. I want you, ahhn!" John licked his lips at the sounds escaping Finch's lips. He had only slipped his hand under the dress shirt and was massaging the scar directly. John slid down Finch's body and veered off towards his right hip. The shirt slid up Finch's stomach with a tanned hand and left his hip exposed. The wet lips pressed to the long scar across the right hip. A lick followed, long and slow, dragging back and forth until Finch broke and moaned out.

"You taste good," John teased. His eased his other hand to the front of the dress shirt and began to unbutton it as he worked the hip with his mouth. He didn't bite - he knew better. He only licked and kissed at it until Finch coiled beneath him and whimpered openly about how good it felt.

After unbuttoning the shirt and vest, John eased both off the worn body and folded them into a square. He held Finch's head lightly and slipped it beneath for a pillow. Finch sighed in relief as his head laid level for his neck. Just as he relaxed, John bit at his skin. He slipped the chocolate nub into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it every which way. Back and forth, side to side, circles, even flicking it and prodding it. Hands quickly tangled in his hair and pulled relentlessly.

"Harold, you're unbelievably sensitive, it's too cute." John slurped at the nipple and bit more to hush any comebacks and began working the other with his hand in the same fashion.

While Finch laid panting, John kissed down the crease of his chest to his navel. He kissed the little indent with a smirk and worked his way further down. Finch's breath hitched in soft lips pressed just below his navel and nipped at the button of his pants until it popped undone. The article of clothing was shed from his legs and tossed somewhere across the room. Hands ran up his calves to his tights and cupped his hips. He never released the breath until John pursed his lips against the tip of the bulge in the boxers.

"John, ngh..." Finch bucked his hips a bit, regretting the movement. but those same hands pressed just below his hips and held him still on the floor. The mouth moved up to pull down the waist of the boxers. The stiff member sprung forth.

The pointed nose nudged the head and down the underside, bringing back up a lap of his tongue. The tip flicked under the crown and at the head, slipping into the slit and wiggling a bit. The light teasing drove Finch's sight to a white haze. He could barely comprehend right from left. It had been too long since he had been with someone, especially someone he cared this deeply for. John bent his head, taking the entire length his in mouth. His hot mouth tightened with a suck and pumped the member continuously. Finch wanted to throw his head back but his neck prevented him from it. All he could do was bite out John's name and tear helplessly at the dark hair.

It didn't take much stimulus. Tongue working hard and fast along with the friction from the hot mouth, Finch was beaten. He felt his body tighten and coil in his lower stomach. With a sharp moan, he tried to pull John away. John held fast and worked harder, drinking down each drop of the bitter delicacy as Finch shuddered and writhed beneath him. After he had drank the entire appetizer, John drew back and licked over his lips.

"Harold?" He reached a hand up to feel Finch's cheek. He was hot, burning up. It checked him enough to wait for a response.

"D... Don't stop." Finch covered his face in embarrassment.

John let himself shake with a soft laughter. His body dropped back between the spread legs and held each up until they bent at the knees.

"Like this, hold them." his voice was soft and calm.

He guided each of Finch's hands to the back of his thighs. The trembling hands held the legs up and spread for John to enjoy. John dipped down between the spread legs and kissed the underside of one thigh all the way to the firm cheeks. His hands kneaded both, fondling them in every way he knew would make Finch moan. The cheeks spread, revealing the rosy red bud. A deep groan sang out. John couldn't hardly contain himself. The strain against the front of his pants was driving him insane. Hoping to release a bit of tension, he slipped his pants down his hips and gave his hard length a good stroke. Through his pleasure, he made sure to cater to Finch's wants and needs. His free hand cupped one cheek and lifted it slightly, allowing him to bend his head to the rosy ring and give it a wide lap. The muscle clenched at the contact. John took it as a challenge and drove his tongue in. Back and forth it wiggled, loosening the first obstacle.

Finch whined and moaned beneath John. Never had he felt this before, the pleasure, the love - love? He absolutely didn't hate it. And he more than liked it. Yeah, he loved John; the way he touched, spoke, even cared. He never thought he would allow anyone this close. Here he was, allowing a person in the most taboo part of him, and he was enjoying it.

From between his legs he saw John draw back and brush his hand through his hair. His arms looped around a Finch's waist and turned him around and sitting straight. The body slid into his lap and leaned considerably against his chest for support. Finch's fingers dug into John's thighs as he sucked a few needed breaths in. With the strongest yet gentlest grip he could muster, John held Finch's twitching hole pressed to the tip of his throbbing length.

"Tell me if it hurts." John rolled his hips upwards while dragging Finch's body down. He barely went half way before pulling out to thrust again. The tight tunnel constricted each time, only driving him to thrust harder. After a few thrusts, John felt the firm ass rub against his thighs and stomach.

"Finch?" He laced his arms around the others waist and rested his head against the slack shoulder. There he nibbled gently at the skin while only making small gestures with his hips.

"You're so big..." Finch panted out. His head bent over his shoulder and he stole a kiss from John's hungry lips.

"Does it hurt?" John rubbed the scarred right hip while grinding into the tight heat. Suddenly, Finch arched and cried out.

"Ahnnh! John!" He body clenched so tightly John thought he might burst right then and there.

"There?" He smile grew wicked. His hands gripped the hips and began to thrust against the tight hole. Each time he strove after that spot. Each time he hit it. Finch laid back against John, almost unable to breathe. This was too much for a virgin, especially one as fragile as Finch. But John didn't stop. He only moved faster and harder. His hand wrapped tightly around Finch's neglected member and stroked it feverishly in sync with his thrusts.

"Oh god, John I'm -" Finch shuddered gloriously atop John. His walls clenched down, his nails dug deeper into John's thighs. His seed spilled across John's hand and pooled on the jacket. John followed soon after, driving hard and grinding deep until he practically burst inside the tight tunnel.

Worn, John fell back to the floor, bringing Finch with him. He held Finch tightly and kissed his neck and shoulder while whispering sweet nothings.

"I love you, Harold," John whispered softly into the stiff neck. The air grew silent.

"Me too John. Don't leave my side." Finch pulled off John's spent length and flipped over to rest his body face down on John's. His head nuzzled the prominent collarbone with a near purr.

"Wouldn't dream of it." John bent his head to kiss Finch one more time.

Undoubtedly, Finch would never lose trust in John again.


End file.
